Monday, December 7, 2015

futility

The light of day died with a sigh, and the earth opened up with a crystalline scream.

His eyes shuddered with a stuttering flutter. Air shifted within his chambers for the first time in centuries. His clothes had rotted away; his flesh shriveled to dusty nothingness.

He must have died.

He might have shrugged if there was any interest left within his brittle bones.

The time had come. The portents had fallen. It was his moment.

The gate within beckoned to be release. Hellfire and horror and misery and disease clamored against his indifference. Power and long promised vengeance burned all around him.

He did not care.

Centuries of meditation had taught him futility if nothing else.

Let them have their tiny world for another cosmic iota, he thought. They are likely to destroy it themselves, anyway. 

Instead he slept, dreaming of void and forgetful time.

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